* * *

I don’t know how many times I drifted in and out of sleep.

I wasn’t even sure how much time had passed. It could’ve been days since I’d fallen asleep repeatedly, or maybe it had only been a short while, broken by restless wakefulness.

After countless bad dreams, I became unbearably hungry.

But I didn’t want to move a finger.

I had no strength, and my mood was in tatters.

I couldn’t bring myself to move.

I knew I was wasting time. But I was in no state to do anything productive.

With my mind this drained, I wouldn’t accomplish anything.

I wasn’t even in a condition to flatter the hero to lighten his mood—something I needed to do, no matter what.

‘I’ll rest a bit longer until I stabilize…’

If I forced myself outside now, I might grab the hero and beg him to just meet someone—anyone.

If I did that, he might not just push me away but draw his sword.

That wouldn’t just strain our relationship; it would leave me injured and unable to approach him for a while.

That’s unacceptable.

Yeah, it’s better to lie low until I feel better.

‘…I’m so hungry.’

To recover my strength, I needed to eat something.

Even the hero can’t move if he doesn’t eat properly—what makes me think I can?

It was ridiculous to lie here waiting to recover without food.

Dragging myself out of bed, I winced as I remembered.

“Ow, ow, ow.”

Right—my ankle was injured.

I thought resting would heal it, but it was still swollen and red.

Maybe it wasn’t just a sprain; could it be a bone injury?

Pressing on the swollen area made me cry out in pain.

I should’ve seen a healer.

Vasco’s voice echoed in my mind, scolding me not to act tough.

Now it’s too late.

I didn’t even feel like getting food earlier—how was I supposed to visit a healer?

‘Is there a potion around here?’

The thought of dragging my injured ankle around to search for one was overwhelming.

Or maybe I was just feeling this way because I was starving.

Once I’ve eaten something and regained a bit of strength, I’ll find the potion.

I’m an adventurer—there must be a spare potion or two somewhere.

If not, I can check Aimone’s room.

Dragging my leg, I stood up and looked for food.

To my surprise, there was more than I expected.

The supplies I’d stocked up to present to the hero were still here.

And now I was going to eat them. These were expensive items, and I felt guilty touching them.

Was it okay for me to eat these?

They were too precious.

After years of eating scraps during wartime, I was used to eating anything as long as it resembled food.

Sigh.

It wasn’t like offering these to the hero now would ease his anger…

Might as well eat them myself.

I finished off a sandwich first.

Each bite made a crisp, satisfying crunch, but the taste barely registered.

My mouth was bitter, or maybe it was the anxiety weighing on me.

Either way, I couldn’t appreciate the flavor.

I followed up with cookies and cream bread, stuffing them down without much thought.

Once my stomach was full, sleepiness hit me again.

Just as I lay back down, I remembered I was supposed to find a potion.

But I was too sleepy.

Lying down like this, my ankle didn’t feel as painful anymore.

Now that I’d eaten, maybe this time, if I just slept and woke up, it’d get somewhat better?

It seemed more reasonable than wasting a precious potion.

Definitely, it was.

I was tired.

Too tired to move.

I felt sleepy, so I should just sleep.

There wasn’t much I could do anyway.

Besides, anything I tried just seemed to make things worse.

Thinking, thinking some more—it only made me anxious, uneasy, and miserable…

So, I should sleep.

“No.”

The hero’s words startled me.

“What? This injury is really no big deal. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to save the potion for when someone else in the party gets hurt?”

“It’s inconvenient.”

The hero glanced briefly at my injured leg.

Oh, I see. If I hurt my leg, it’d be harder for him to carry me around, making things inconvenient.

Fair enough, that made sense.

Why did it have to be my leg, though?

Despite insisting I was fine, the hero firmly told me to get treated, leaving me feeling embarrassed.

I wanted to claim I could run just fine like this, but that’d be a lie.

I didn’t want to be a burden to the hero’s party.

I wasn’t contributing much as it was; I couldn’t afford to cause trouble on top of that.

Embarrassingly, I hadn’t been able to sleep well without the hero nearby since most of the continent was left in ruins.

The constant fear of demons lurking around every corner kept me on edge.

If the hero let me stay by his side, I wanted to continue traveling with him.

There were plenty of adventurers who could handle wound treatment or gathering supplies better than I could.

Why he’d chosen me remained a mystery.

Whatever the reason behind his unfathomable kindness, I wanted to contribute more to the party.

Maybe then I could feel at ease.

…If only I were just a little stronger.

“Stay still.”

“No, wait. I can do it myself!”

I was thoroughly flustered as the hero rolled up my pant leg and poured the potion over my injury himself.

It didn’t make sense—why was the hero handling such a minor task?

Of course, he was much faster than I was.

When the warm liquid from my heated ankle met the cool potion, it felt incredibly soothing.

The power of a high-grade potion was remarkable.

The pain that had been so intense disappeared almost immediately.

The swelling was still there, but that would fade in time too.

“Having the hero do this feels too extravagant. Seriously, I can manage it myself, you know.”

The hero looked at me intently.

“I don’t trust you.”

Ugh.

His gaze stung.

Ever since he caught me saving the potion he’d given me for another injured party member, he’d been like this.

Back then, I hadn’t injured my leg, and I didn’t think it’d affect the party much.

But this time, my pace might hold the party back, so I’d really intended to use it.

“Come on, don’t be so rigid. Trust me a little, would you? We’re traveling companions, after all.”

Knowing full well he wouldn’t respond to such casual banter, I added it anyway.

In the relentless battles the hero’s party endured, without the occasional soft remark, the tension might snap everyone in half.

As expected, there was no reply.

Yet the silence made me uneasy—his lack of words wasn’t merely disinterest.

The hero was staring at me, his gaze heavy with some unfathomable meaning.

Should I apologize for what happened last time?

No, but if the same situation arose, I’d probably do the same thing.

Apologizing would mean admitting I’d been wrong, and I’d have to avoid repeating it.

So instead, I should just defuse this awkward tension.

If I smiled and suggested we get moving…

“How am I supposed to trust you?”

His cold voice pierced my chest.

I couldn’t move, blinking in disbelief.

I’d wondered before if the hero had any reason to trust me, but hearing it said outright was something else entirely.

After all, the hero had once told me:

“I trust you.”

* * *